


Play Another One

by a_taller_tale



Series: RvB Fluff Week [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Awkward Crush, Banjo, Blood Gulch Chronicles, Early in Canon, M/M, Music, RvB Fluff Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Grif might owe Donut another favor soon if he could get something else to make Simmons smile like that.





	Play Another One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiaTheDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/gifts).



> The song choice was obvious, but I found a banjo cover of it, and since this song is on 80% of grimmons playlists, it felt like a sign. Thanks for the prompt, Ria!

It’s not like Grif asked Simmons to become a fucking cyborg. 

Grif had been half dead at the time, and probably would have had a better life with the angels and shit, rather than being stuck in this hell that was Blood Gulch. 

Or maybe he would have turned into a ghost like Church instead. Although he’d been more corporeal recently. That guy didn’t seem happy. It probably still sucked. 

So yeah, he hadn’t asked for Simmons to do some kind of dick hero move where he _volunteered_ for a cyborg operation he had previously _talked back to Sarge about_ just to save Grif’s stupid life. Grif had nothing to do with it. And he still didn’t even fucking get it. Simmons actively hated him a lot of the time. 

Though, sometimes he wasn’t the _worst_ guy to talk to. A better choice than Donut or Lopez anyway. 

It’s not like Simmons even complained about becoming “Simmons 2.0,” but it was hard to pretend everything was fine when the guy kept glitching and shooting himself in the foot, then pretending that was just a quirky little thing he did now. Not feeling things in his extremities, or random gears actually popping out on him was the new normal. 

And Simmons kept finding “features” Sarge installed that he didn’t tell either of them about. Like auto-locking on the Blues (and Grif), or needing coolant refills every week and… And Grif did feel a little responsible, even though Simmons did it to himself. 

It was fucking dumb. 

“Here,” Grif said, thrusting out the banjo and purposely holding it upside down by the bridge so it looked like he didn’t know his way around an instrument. 

“Uh—” Simmons looked up from his calligraphy, probably writing another cyborg report to Sarge, but lit up when he saw the instrument. Literally, the lights on the side of his face lit up when he had an extreme emotion now. It was fucking weird. “Is that a banjo?” 

“Oh, is that what they’re called? I found it in a cave on patrol. Must’ve been left by whoever was stationed here before us.” 

“You found it?” Simmons looked doubtfully at the proffered instrument in front of him. It was insulting. Where was the trust, Simmons? 

He casually swung the banjo around again and Simmons actually stood up and grabbed it. “Stop that! You’re going to break it!” 

Here was the part he had to be most casual for. “Banjo… Didn’t you say you played once? Or maybe it was the triangle,” Grif said. 

“It was the banjo,” Simmons said, frowning. “But it’s been a while…” He looked down at his arm, and fuck, that was something Grif hadn’t thought about. If Simmons’ new arm couldn’t play then this whole scheme was useless. 

“Well, we could always use it for a bonfire. I’ll get the marshmallows—” 

“No!” Simmons shouted, reaching for it. “Uh, I mean, I’ll take it.” 

“Well, I found it, so it’s _technically_ mine, but I guess I could let you have it. If you play it for me.” 

“Uh—” 

“Good talk, buddy. Bonfire tonight.” 

“ _Tonight?!_ You know I don’t work well under pressure-!” 

Grif slammed the door to their room shut and left to find a snack. 

…Okay, so he hadn’t really “found” the banjo anywhere. Donut manages to get all these crazy costumes and weird foods and wines and stuff from somewhere. He has contraband connections. Grif promised him a future unnamed favor he’d rather not think about for getting this thing here. 

But it’s worth it. With Grif’s improved lung capacity, and fully healed after all the skin grafts, while Simmons is _still_ having trouble adjusting to the whole cyborg thing, sometimes Grif feels like he got the better deal. 

And the look Simmons gave him when he took the stupid thing… He lit up. And it wasn’t just his creepy new cyborg eye. 

Later that night, they’ve had their barbecue and ate most of the bag of marshmallows between him and Donut and Simmons is _still_ just plucking at the strings, a look of extreme concentration on his face. 

“ _Jesus Simmons_ , you’ve been tuning it for over an hour.” Sarge and Donut had already gotten bored and gone to bed and Lopez hadn’t even been hanging out in the first place. Grif was the last one left, but it’s not like he had anything better to do. 

“I don’t have a tuner and it’s got to sound right or I’m not playing,” Simmons said, so focused on the banjo he didn’t even notice Grif was smoking. 

Grif tried to make a smoke ring, but it dissolved in the heat in the air before it looked cool. “I think you’re stalling and you don’t know how to play.” 

“I know how to play!” Simmons’ voice cracked. “I’m just trying to calibrate.” 

“Whatever.” 

Simmons took a deep breath and strummed, and it sounded a lot different than the tuning. Grif was suddenly paying more attention and put out his cigarette. 

He played the opening a few more times than he should have, but after faltering a little, Simmons opened his mouth and started singing. “Wise men saaay… only fools rush iiin.” 

His playing started simply, and he kept looking up to check that his audience of one didn’t look bored, which was a lot to ask of Grif, but he wasn’t. It was… cool to see him play. 

With a small smile, Simmons started adding flourishes and his voice got louder and richer as he became more confident. 

Grif stared. 

Simmons’ bangs were plastered to his forehead from the heat of the fire, he’d need another haircut soon if he wanted to keep up his neat appearance. “But I can’t help falling in love with you…” 

It took Simmons meeting Grif’s eyes for him to realize the song had ended. 

“Interesting song choice,” Grif said, feeling…something. 

“Mom was an Elvis fan. It was the first song I learned.” Simmons went back to plucking, studying Grif for a reaction, some approval. Mostly he looked pleased on his own, so the banjo scheme had worked. It would be so easy to crush that look, and sometimes Grif enjoyed bullying Simmons a little. 

But tonight… tonight he wanted more music. 

Grif cracked open a beer. “You know your arm works now. Play another one.” 

Simmons smiled at him. 

Fuck. Grif might owe Donut another favor soon if he could get something else to make Simmons smile like that. 

“Okay,” Simmons said, plucking away again for a minute, before going into another song. 


End file.
